


All I Need

by doctor__idiot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Dean, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, If you're looking for something with plot this isn't it, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Sam, basically Dean is just a giant slut for his brother's cock, seriously this is shameless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9278456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: Dean never backs down from a challenge. He's starting to realize that maybe that’s not always the smartest move.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this. I would care if I had any shame.
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing's mine (I wish), just the (not very original) idea. I know the title is dumb. It's an AWOLNATION song.

Dean isn’t usually one to go back on a bet but he’s not sure how much more he can take.

He really should have thought of that when Sam said, ‘I’ll bet you a month’s laundry duty that I won’t get a chance to fuck you on _all_ surfaces and pieces of furniture in this room before you beg me for mercy.’

For future records: If something seems too easy, that’s probably because it _is_.

Dean knew full well he was being manipulated, nothing subtle about it. Funny thing is, Sam knows he doesn’t need to be subtle with Dean, can be as openly manipulative as he wants, as long as he plays his cards right. And challenging Dean is usually a sure-fire way to get what he wants.

It’s kind of sad but Dean isn’t above admitting that he’s ridiculously easy.

They’ve already covered the floor, the small table by the window – Dean didn’t actually think it would hold his weight but it did – and the bathroom sink. His knees and palms are stinging, rug-burn making them show up blister-red, and he’s pretty sure there’s a splinter of wood now embedded in the skin above his tailbone.

None of that matters, though, because he’s already come twice and he can barely see straight. He’s half-hard again already, too, and so sensitive everywhere it’s killing him.

It might not actually be that difficult to keep himself in check – more or less – if Sam would just _shut up_ for one goddamn second.

Ignoring the occasional expletive, there’s a constant string of praise spilling from Sam’s lips, ‘Doing so well, baby, so beautiful, so damn pretty for me, taking my cock so good,’ and Dean _moans_ , shivers.

He doesn’t want to have such a strong reaction to Sam’s words but he can’t help it and he’s too exhausted to be ashamed by it.

So far, Sam has only come once and Dean is half-sure his little brother popped some Viagra pills when Dean wasn’t looking because he doesn’t seem in any hurry to reach that sweet peak again. His recovery period was impressively short, too, and he wouldn’t stop teasing Dean with his fingers during.

Dean knows he’s saying words – or something close enough anyway – but all he can hear is Sam and that’s okay. As long as he’s not begging, as long as there aren’t any pleas for mercy coming out of his mouth, he’s in the clear.

Mercy. Dean Winchester crying for mercy. _Very funny, Sam_. Over his dead body.

Except, it doesn’t seem that impossible anymore, his occasional pleas of ‘Please, Sammy, baby, I need–,’ they’re not actually that far away from what Sam _wants_ him to say. Dean can only hope that he’ll become incoherent soon and the problem will take care of itself.

He is drenched in sweat but so is Sam. It’s a small consolation but still somewhat satisfying. Sam’s hair is sticking to his forehead, they’re sticking together, and Dean’s chest is sticking to the counter top of the kitchenette. There are bruises forming on his hipbones where the edge of the counter is biting into his skin.

Before he knows it, he’s yanked up by Sam’s arm hooked around his neck, arching his back to accommodate the new position with his shoulder blades pressed against Sam’s chest, and Sam shoves into him two, three, four more times before he pulls out and away.

Dean has to hold onto the counter to stay upright, his legs shaky and useless, feeling bereft and confused as to why he’s suddenly cold. He’s spun around then and Sam doesn’t waste any time before pushing him up against the wall. He doesn’t even have time to protest the harsh treatment.

“A wall is a surface,” Sam says matter-of-fact and hefts Dean up onto his hips without giving Dean a moment to prepare. And he _wasn’t_ prepared because suddenly he’s loosing his footing, his back is scraping uncomfortably against the rough wall and all he can do is dig his fingers and heels into Sam’s back while Sam fills him again to the brim.

He’s stopped asking for more lube a long time ago because he’s goddamn dripping already and this isn’t a problem of friction. His tired body is screaming at him but Dean grits his teeth and refuses to give in, not even to himself. _Especially_ not to himself.

Sam kisses him them, slightly uncoordinated, and when Dean feels his brother’s muscle tense and shift against him, hears Sam’s muffled grunt of effort in midst of their heated kiss, he comes for the third time tonight.

It’s barely more than a shudder, his cock spurting drops of clear liquid, too spent for much more, but Dean feels it all the way to his toes and he clamps his mouth shut against an embarrassing sound. He can’t be certain but he thinks his vision actually whites out for a second.

Maybe for more than a second because he somehow finds himself lying in bed on his side with Sam folding his long body along Dean’s back.

He gives a tired but content sigh. He feels kind of sticky and gross but he is really too tired to shower and anyway, he can already feel himself dropping off.

He is jolted out of his sleepy haze when something hard nudges between the cheeks of his ass and realization crashes down on him.

“Oh Christ, you didn’t even–" He was going to say ‘come’ but it turns into a pained moan when Sam thrusts the length of his cock back into him, groin pressing flush with Dean’s ass, and it _burns_.

Dean really should have seen it coming. It’s plainly obvious when you think about it, not that Dean is in any state of mind to do that.

Sam huffs a laugh against the back of Dean’s head, breath ruffling the short hair. “The bed’s furniture, too, Dean,” he says and nips at the skin below Dean’s ear, licking across the mark, “Just be glad we didn’t get the room with _two_ beds.”

Dean shivers, his fingers fisting in the bedspread, but he doesn’t move away. Doesn’t dare.

His face half-turned into the pillow, breathy moans and tiny whimpers pour from his open mouth every time Sam’s cock drags along his abused prostate. Sam’s arm is wrapped tightly around Dean’s middle and he is kissing down the length of Dean’s neck, biting softly at his shoulders.

He suddenly grips Dean’s chin between his fingers and twists his head towards him. Dean’s spine feels a little like it’s going to snap in two and he makes a small sound.

Sam asks, “You ready to beg now?”

Dean’s got his mouth open, inhaling, ready to tell his brother to fuck off, tell him ‘never in a million years’ – even if they both know that’s not true –, when he thinks better of it.

There’s a glint in Sam’s eyes, mischievous and challenging and so full of himself. Dean’s mouth curls and he juts his jaw into his brother’s face, his defiance crawling back out from the place deep down where he lost his dignity an hour and a half ago.

“Fuck me,” he says, his voice barely recognizable, “Fuck me harder, you know you want to. Come on, Sammy, make me take it.”

He clamps down, tight around Sam’s cock, and Sam makes a choked noise, his fingers tightening on Dean’s side. It fucking _hurts_ when he shoves in hard but it’s oh-so worth it to see him finally lose his composure. The guy’s self-control is unreal and it’s just not fucking fair.

Dean jerks his face out of Sam’s loosening grip and presses it into the pillow, muffling all the noises, words, and pleas spilling out of him every time Sam snaps his hips, his cock sliding so deep Dean’s half-convinced he can taste him.

He doesn’t even know anymore if it’s still pleasure what he’s feeling, every nerve in his body is confused. He is moving on autopilot, not actually sure whether he’s angling his hips into Sam’s thrusts or away, digging his nails into the closest part of his brother he can find to inflict some pain of his own.

Sam trails his hand down Dean’s spine, between the cheeks of his ass, to the point where his cock is pistoning in and out.

The tips of his fingers tease along the puffy rim. “I bet you’re so loose, I could probably fist you right about now. Make your pretty little ass take my entire hand.”

If Dean was actually able to come a fourth time in one day, not to mention in the span of several hours, this would probably be the moment when.

He gasps, “Don’t you fucking dare,” and grits his teeth as a shiver wracks his body, overstimulated, oversensitive, and yet somehow still incredibly turned on.

Sam, the little shit, _laughs_. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Not today.”

“You’re an asshole.” The insult would surely have more effect if Dean wasn’t panting so damn much.

“Not me, Dean. You.”

Dean groans. “Bad pun.”

He’s trying to twist his body into a position where Sam can’t go as deep, as fast, where he won’t hit Dean’s prostate on every fucking thrust, but it’s useless. Sam’s hold on him is too tight, he’s _everywhere_ , inside and out, and Dean doesn't have anywhere to go.

A high whine makes its way out of his throat but he is too far gone to be ashamed.

Sam responds, leans in, “What about now? Ready now?”

 _Ready to kick your ass_. Dean wants to say it, he really does, a snappy comeback to give him back some of his dignity, but he can’t. He doesn’t dare open his mouth, unclench his teeth, because he’s afraid of what might come out of it instead.

Sam’s breath is brushing along his ear. “You have no idea how beautiful you are,” he says, breathless and reverent and Dean can’t even object, “So gorgeous like this. Sometimes I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Sam, _fuck_.” Dean is peripherally aware that he’s close to sobbing. He unclenches his death grip on the sheet and grabs for Sam’s hand that’s holding him and interlaces their fingers. It could almost be a romantic gesture if his fingernails weren’t leaving crescent imprints on the back of Sam’s hand.

Sam makes a noise that’s halfway between a moan and a gasp and he finally, _finally_ spills inside Dean, his mouth pressed against the back of Dean’s shoulder to muffle any further sounds.

When the tension disappears from his body, he slumps against Dean’s back, stroking his hand down Dean’s stomach.

He pulls out and Dean hisses, digs his fingers into Sam’s flank. “God, I hate you so much.”

Sam chuckles, a little weak but obnoxiously pleased with himself. “No, you don’t.”

_No, I don’t._

“Shower?” Sam mumbles into the back of Dean’s neck but Dean is already burrowing into the sheets.

He groans at the thought of getting back up. “Unless you wanna carry me, it’s not happening.”

Sam laughs, “Alright,” and reaches to switch off the light. It’s not yet entirely dark out but Dean is ready to sleep for two days.

He turns around - with some effort - to face his brother and Sam immediately wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer. He cups the back of Dean’s neck and kisses him, barely more than a press of lips, sharing space, a stark contrast to the fervor earlier.

“Guess what,” Dean grins up at him when they part and Sam’s right eyebrow curves.

“What?”

Dean’s smirk widens. “I won.”

The hand tracing symbols across the small of Dean’s back comes to a halt. Sam gives a snort. “Yeah, you did. I’m on laundry duty. Nothing changing there.”

Dean elbows him in the ribs, not enough to hurt. “Just gimme this one, would ya?”

Sam’s smile can only be described as indulgent but Dean is too tired to care. He turns his cheek into Sam’s biceps, his head pillowed in the crook of his brother’s arm. He’s well-aware they’re cuddling but he’s too tired to care about that, too. He throws his leg over Sam’s hip, drawing the blanket up over them.

Sam’s hand finds his thigh, palm splayed, stroking up over the cheek of Dean’s ass to come to settle above his tailbone. Dean’s exhaustion takes its toll now that his body is crashing down from soaring high and his lids slip shut.

“Hey,” Sam says softly, “You good?”

Dean hums at him without opening his eyes. “You suck. Everything hurts.” That’s an understatement. He feels like he went twelve rounds with a ghost in a graveyard. He adds, “If you don’t get me breakfast in the morning, you’re sleeping on the floor for the next week.”

Sam’s chuckle sounds low and amused in his ear. “Fair enough.”

“And I’m never letting you near my ass again.”

He can feel Sam’s continued laughter in the vibration of the chests that’s pressed against his own. “We’ll see about that.”


End file.
